Officers read warrants. Guests whispered. Cameras flashed.

No one clapped this time.

The document Mia had taken wasn’t a mistake. It wasn’t fake. It wasn’t an exaggeration.

It was one page in a thick file.

Insurance policies.
Forged medical reports.
Consent forms signed with practiced hands.

They had planned to declare her dead.

Quietly.
Cleanly.
Conveniently.

A tragic accident.
A loss.
A write-off.

A bad investment.

But Mia was not an investment.

She was a child who liked strawberry pancakes and slept with the light on.